


Dear Deer

by syn0dic



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: During Timeskip (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Epistolary, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-01-05 14:01:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 6,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21209729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syn0dic/pseuds/syn0dic
Summary: Byleth Eisner vanished without a trace at the ruinous battle for Garreg Mach monastery. But as a few students try to clean up the rubble before they leave for good, letters Byleth had written for her beloved class's graduation resurface among the dust. Her Golden Deer may be without her for now, but Byleth's words have a way of sticking around.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize for the brevity of chapters in advance. I enjoy writing letters dearly, and I find them to be more important to the fic than the surrounding dialogue, though certainly some of the scenes will be slightly longer and more contentious than the first chapter. This was an idea I had when I hit the timeskip myself-- surely a teacher so close to her students wouldn't have sent them out with nary a letter of wisdom and advice to remember her by. Feedback will surely be appreciated, and I actually have a good bit of the material for this laying around, so updates will likely be frequent.

“Ignatz, come look at this.” Leonie held up a handful of envelopes, each with the names of the Golden Deer students written in Professor Eisner’s handwriting. “She had these in a folder marked Graduation. She must’ve been planning to give us these.” Leonie turned them over in her hand, and chewed her lip. Garreg Mach was half rubble now, but a few of the students had stayed behind to pick over the remains, herself and Ignatz among them, as well as Claude and Marianne. She had volunteered to go through the professor’s things for information. Claude was discontent and she didn’t want to stir up more of the same hurt feelings he’d been ruminating in for three days. Besides, Leonie had already lost one mentor. What was another?

“Do you think we should open them?” Ignatz saw his name, the spiky, indelicate, ever-familiar cursive of their teacher, hidden behind a few others. “What if she’s not gone? It’s only been a few days. Nobody’s graduating anymore, but… It still feels like we might be violating her privacy.”

“If she wrote these for us, then I don’t know how much of a violation that would be,” said Leonie, still hesitant. Ignatz almost saw a gleam of sadness in her eyes. “I don’t know if I’ll open mine. But I think we ought to send them to the right place, shouldn’t we?”

“That’s fair.” Ignatz reached for the thick vanilla envelopes. Leonie, Claude, Lysithea, Marianne, Lorenz, Raphael, Hilda, and his own. All eight. “I wonder if she knew something was going to happen.”

“Knowing our professor, she probably did. After what happened to Jeralt, there’s no way she didn’t think to herself that anything could go wrong.” Leonie turned over the envelope again, looking over the dark blue wax seal, smudged lightly while hot-- the professor must’ve done that. 

"I'm glad she at least got to write things out." Ignatz thoughtfully stared down at the envelopes, curiosity piqued. "It makes me wonder what she wanted to say to us that she felt like she had to write. What could be so important?"

“I think I’m opening mine now. It’ll torture me if I don’t.” Leonie pulled out her knife to open it with more delicacy than simply tearing into it. Usually she would’ve kept the envelope to reuse the paper, but this was more sentimental. She wanted it to stay nice, to keep.

“Are you sure?” Ignatz’s eyes grew wide. “Leonie!” It was too late. The seal was broken, and slowly, Leonie withdrew the letter. It was dated to a week before the battle. She sighed. Yes, Professor Eisner must’ve known.

“Be quiet,” she urged him. Ignatz waited with bated breath while he watched her read. He saw her face grow sad-- not like the rage and grief he’d seen when Jeralt had died. No, this was different. This was hollow, an ache. And he felt it too.

“So?” he asked as she folded it back up. Leonie shook her head and handed him half of the envelopes.

“Take care of these,” she said, taking three of the envelopes from his hand and tucking them into her bag. “You should read your own, at least. Deliver them. I think it’s only right.”

“Well...What did she say?” His voice was quiet, sensitive to the way Leonie must’ve felt. First her oldest mentor, and then her professor-- it had to be difficult for her. Even if Claude insisted that there was a thousand and one ways that Professor Eisner could've survived, Ignatz had his doubts. She would have returned unless something was disastrously wrong, and even then, the thought of a power strong enough to take the bearer of the Sword of the Creator out of commission was terrifying. But he thought of the letters again, interjected by Leonie.

“What I needed to hear. Come on. Help me move these boxes, the ones with...yeah. Goddess, the woman had a weapons collection.”


	2. Dear Leonie

Dear Ms. Pinelli,

We had a rough start, didn’t we? If I ever said anything to you to merit some of the early hard feelings between us-- I am so sorry. You are young, and competitive, and so full of fire, and I should have known better than to fan the flames. Jeralt would be so proud of you. I know he would be.

More to the point, Leonie, you have so much promise in you. You’re capable and hardworking, almost to a fault, and fiercely, singlemindedly independent. You could do anything you put your mind to. And to boot, you’re one of the nicest people I know, no matter how you try to hide it. I know all the favors and ways you helped your classmates over the last few months, even when it was hard. I know you’re a kind, authentic person. Your secret is out. In a way, I could stand to learn from that! I wish I could say all of these things to your face, but that’s just another one of my faults. A woman of few words. Too few. But you have the potential to be so much more than me, Leonie. You have the potential to be your own, independent person. Everything I do, will forever be tied to what is happening here and now, and the fate of the Church. I knew this months ago when I took the position, and with things shaping up the way they are, even now I know it's true. But you, Leonie, can make something radiant, and just as bright as you are in this world. Not just as a mercenary. You can bring something back to this world. Teach apprentices. Become the hero Jeralt knew you could be, and make your village proud, Leonie. Keep people safe, show the world what you’re made of. I know you can do it.

But above all, I don’t want you to forget a few things. There is no weakness in asking for help. There never has been. I know you cherish your independence, but if there’s one thing I hope you’ve learned here at Garreg Mach, it’s not how to ride a horse or use a lance or bow. I hope you’ve learned that all of us are stronger together, and that it’s alright to rely on one another. You deserve other people’s kindness. You deserve other people’s respect. You don’t need to endlessly chase it down with a vengeance to prove that you’re just as good as nobles or crestbearers are. You always have been. You’re my dad’s best apprentice.

I hope I see you again in five years, Leonie. I hope that the world is kind to you until then. But whatever happens, I know you can endure it. I am so proud of you, and I know you'll do great things.

With sincere warmth,

Byleth Eisner


	3. Chapter 3

Ignatz spent the majority of his afternoon, from then on, working with names. Names of the Church soldiers known to have died, recorded forever in tomes that couldn’t be kept at the monastery, names of the missing, names of the people who could remember such things so that he could put it to paper. 

He had Marianne’s letter.

He’d expected to see Marianne during dinner at the camp-- the dozens of tents pitched outside the green, far from painful memories and closer to the battlefield where the work was most needed. But there was no Marianne, even though he’d asked around. Even Claude didn’t know.

But Ignatz had a feeling. Walking through the empty stone halls of Garreg Mach, the bones of other buildings jutting up from heaps like skeletons of great beasts, he knew where she had gone. And he was grateful to know the way to the cathedral so well-- it was difficult going. He had to climb under the gate-- maybe he’d been made fun of for his slight stature by classmates recently, but now he was glad he wasn’t any taller.

Behind the doors of the cathedral, standing in the moonlight that the hole in the roof let in, was Marianne, on her knees, looking up at the light. If he didn’t know that look in her eye, he wouldn’t have thought she was praying-- but there were different kinds of prayer. He sat down cross legged beside her, and Marianne only slightly flinched.

“Good evening,” said Marianne, the iron grip of politeness throttling her. “Did you follow me?”

“No,” reassured Ignatz. “I just noticed you weren’t at dinner or the camp, and I thought you might be here. I was a little worried.”

“Oh,” said Marianne, smoothing her skirt over her lap. “I didn’t mean to concern anyone. We should go back, then.”

“No!” said Ignatz. “I mean, no. I...I feel like we should be here. The cathedral. What are you praying for?”

“The innocent people.” She stared down at her hands, and Ignatz wasn’t sure what to say. “I spent today blessing burials.”

“I’m so sorry,” said Ignatz, scooting a little closer.

“We buried horses. Civilians. Children and students. Innocent people. They’ve been digging graves for three days and we aren’t even finished.”

“So you’re praying for their souls?” Ignatz softened, and he could see the dark circles under Marianne’s eyes were wet with tears.

“It’s all I can pray for. What kind of person would ask the Goddess for destruction like this…” She swallowed hard. “It’s more than I can bear.”

“I understand,” said Ignatz, sighing and reaching for his bag. “I don’t know if this is still too soon for you, but earlier today, Leonie and I found these.” He pulled Marianne’s letter out of his bag, and held it out. With shaking hands, she took it from him.

“No. Thank you.” Marianne brushed her fingertips against the ink like it was a holy relic, and put the sealed envelope into her own bag. “Do you think she’ll come back to us?”

“I don’t know,” admitted Ignatz. “But it seems doubtful.”

“We never found any remains, and the Sword of the Creator vanished with her. I want to hope she will return. I believe in her,” said Marianne, but icy hesitation was in her tone.

“Wherever she is, I think she would be doing her best to get back to us,” agreed Ignatz. “Do you want to head back? You must be tired,” he said, standing and offering her a hand up. “I know I am.”

“Thank you,” she said, tucking back a few strands of hair and taking his hand. “After all of this is over, where will you go? I have to return to my adoptive father’s estate, but so much has changed.”

“I’m going home,” said Ignatz. “My parents will probably want my help. Are you sure you want to return to your…”

“I am,” said Marianne definitively. “I think it will be different now. I’m different now.” That was to say-- Marianne felt less alone after her time at Garreg Mach. Perhaps she still preferred the company of animals and kept her secrets her own, but at least she was no longer made into an island.

“Good,” said Ignatz, ducking under the gate again and leading the way back to the camp. “I think you’re right.”

The journey back was silent. Ignatz appreciated the quiet nearly as much as Marianne did, and she bid him goodnight and returned anxiously to her tent, opening the envelope. With prayerful caution, and patience, she read her letter by lamplight once, then twice, then a third time, before folding it carefully and replacing it in the envelope. She pressed it into one of her spellbooks for safekeeping. And lastly, Marianne blew out the candle, and laid on her bedroll, letting quiet tears trickle down her cheeks.


	4. Chapter 4

Dear Lady von Edmund,

I wish I knew how to start with you, Marianne. I worry about you, I really do. So often I look at you and think, she has so much strength. You are so strong. But I have to wonder to myself, what made that strength. And that is why I worry.

There is much I know you have not told me, but I am entirely certain that nothing you could tell me about yourself would do a thing to make me less amazed by you. Not only because I am astounded by your personal talent-- but by your grace. I don’t mean physical bearing, though certainly I could take lessons in ladylike behavior from you. I mean grace in the sense of being a gentle, intelligent, and compassionate young woman in adversity. The grace of pine trees in winter, the grace of glaciers in the mountains. You hold it in you, for reasons I personally cannot understand, but I see it. Perhaps it is your faith that holds you up. But I think that your roots run deeper than that. Something anchors you to the side of compassion, to the side of intelligence and understanding and sympathy. And it shows. You are, to your very core, so strong, and I look at you, and I can see it.

I also know how very alone you feel. I myself feel the same way very often— perhaps our struggles are not comparable, or don’t come from the same place, but I do know how that feels. I know your family life is complicated, and that’s much of the reason you isolate yourself. The only person I had in my life for a very long time was my father, and the wound of losing him is quite fresh. It is not complicated, isolating though that was. When I came to Garreg Mach at first, I felt lonely. But I know that the antidote to loneliness, is honesty. To know and love others, they also have to know you. That is not to say that you must tell everyone your deepest secrets. That is to say, that to bond and become close to others, you must open yourself to emotional honesty. Be outspoken! Your classmates and I want to hear your voice and your wisdom. The catharsis of being heard is yours to claim!

That statement is rich coming from me, huh?

But in you, I see so much, Marianne. I see compassion, wisdom, grace, and strength. You’re the portrait of it. I pray for you, and admittedly, I am not a praying woman. But I worry that you will never speak your piece and that forever, you’ll let whatever wounds you bear eat you alive. I pray you find peace, and can open your heart to others. I have seen you grow so much and I look forward to the future with you in it. I am so proud of you.

Always your friend,

Byleth Eisner


	5. Chapter 5

In two days, Leonie was ready to leave. She didn’t want to stay at Garreg Mach. The memories ached, and once the remains of the battlefield had been tended to and weapons were cleared from the field, she didn’t want to linger. She wanted to move on.

But Leonie had Claude’s letter. Over the last days, she had watched him sink lower and lower, grief and frustration over the right hand he’d lost consuming him. He was less composed than Leonie had ever seen him, the mask slipping, only if just for a brief moment. It scared her. And it made her not want to give it to him, to put off talk of the professor to the last possible moment.

Soon enough, she realized she was there. Packing her saddlebags onto her horse and looking out over the rim of the monastery’s surrounding hills, she turned back and looked at Garreg Mach, and forward to the split in the road that her and the other three students heading east to the Alliance would soon approach.

Marianne and Ignatz turned northeast. In seven and a half miles, Leonie would turn homeward. She swallowed as the other two faded from her sight.

“So, going back to Derdriu.” She cleared her throat awkwardly. “Lots to see around there, huh?”

“Plenty,” said Claude, who she had actually been able to hold enjoyable conversations with a week and a half ago, but now seemed to be grasping at straws with. “I guess you’re going home to Sauin Village? You’ve got poachers and bandits to keep off.”

“Actually,” said Leonie, clearing her throat, “I was going to travel. See the rest of the Alliance. If I’m going to become a mercenary, I think I should have a better grasp of the area.”

Claude shook his head. “You never change, do you? Well, if you need work, I think you know where to find me. You ever been to Derdriu?”

“No,” said Leonie, a little awkward. “I’ve only ever seen the sea once, and that was when we went to Rhodos.”

“Really?” He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Huh.”

“Yeah. Speaking of, by the way, you remember that battle?” Leonie was chewing her lip.

“It would be hard to forget. Seteth and Flayn, who would’ve thought,” he said. “Something’s still suspicious about all of that. You think Teach would’ve known?”

“I think she would’ve. But I meant more to joke about how she set Ignatz’s broken arm afterwards and Lorenz almost threw up,” she said with a wry smile. “It was pretty gross, though.”

“Hey, it was better than having to wait around for Manuela when we got back,” he said, a distant look on his face.

“It was,” agreed Leonie with a smile. “But let’s be glad we have some happy memories with her. Don’t get all down about it.”

“I’m not down,” he said, with a strained smile that Leonie saw through. “We’ve still got hope. And both of us have a world that needs us.”

“Right,” said Leonie, rubbing the back of her neck. “Well, this is my road home.” She got off her horse and stopped, reaching into her saddlebag. “Before you go, I have something for you. I should’ve given it to you sooner,” she admitted, pulling out his letter, “but I didn’t know when I could talk to you about this.” She handed it up to him and stood beside her horse, taking a drink.

“This is from Teach.” He inspected it closely. “Where did you find this?”

“Ignatz and I cleaned out her office together. She planned on giving us all these for our graduation, I think. We were a little worried that it would be violating her privacy, but considering they’re all addressed and finished, it should be fine.”

“And it’s not like a little snooping has ever stopped me before,” he joked, though she saw a mist in his eyes. “Yeah, I don’t think she’d mind. Thanks, Leonie. If you need me, you know where to find me.”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” she said, waving and climbing back up on her horse. “See you in five years, Claude. Good luck until then.”

The letter, still sealed, stayed that way for another two months. 

Byleth was supposed to come back. But Claude waited, and finally, realized that if she came back, it would not be any time soon, and she would’ve wanted him to read it anyways. One night, after a long, frustrating meeting, when he had a little too much wine and missed his friends more dearly than before, he succumbed. He opened the letter. And he was glad that he did.


	6. Chapter 6

Dear Prince von Reigan,

Yes, Claude, I know who you are. I knew within a few months. I have ears, and perhaps you have Lorenz and Hilda fooled, but I am an observant woman, and I know when someone is different. And that is the glorious thing about you-- how different you are. Carefree and lackadaisical and clever and constantly aware-- but never once have I seen you stray from the light of what you believe in, what is right. You make your own path, and you are, as a leader, an expert strategist. But anyone can learn to be a tactician. Not everyone can balance it with a moral compass as elegantly as you have.

By now, there are truths about Fodlan both of us know. We live in dark times, and are products of ill will and pain. You know that better than anyone. I know as we move forward, that these truths will grow no lighter, and war, since it is already upon us, will not grow easier. The Alliance will need to make decisions, and I know that you’ve already gotten to thought on the topic. I do not know if I will survive the coming battle; the Empire has massive forces and I have great concern for the monastery and my own duty to my students and the Church. I would not have questioned my survival odds if I had not so recently witnessed the death of my father and nearly faced my own demise. It is terrifying, and I feel that you are the only one of your classmates who can understand this sentiment-- perhaps this is because I feel that you’ve faced similar fears before.

I am certain you will think I have lost some of the wheels in my head for telling you about this, but a few weeks before we met, I had a strange dream. I could call it precognition, but I feel like that is not quite what I mean. I dreamt of a beautiful young princess, burdened by pain, who wanted to change the world, and a kind king seeking only peace and relief from years of mourning, and an ambitious, fiery prince whose eyes were on the horizon. The princess, if I went to her, would succeed, and find the light, but the king, warped by grief and pain, would sink to his lowest point, and kill countless innocents. If I lent a hand to the king, the princess would rise to the challenge and cleave the continent in half. Between both of them, there was immeasurable suffering. And the golden prince, far above them, hailing arrows, saw a new light, with or without my hand. No matter what I did, he chose kindness and cleverness. He would walk a path he believed in, driven not by revenge or pain, but by his own determination to make this world better for everyone. And I thought to myself, here is someone to believe in.

I see those eyes in you, Claude. You’re always looking forward. What are you looking for? I want to stand beside you when you find it. I want to see the sun rise over a land that you left your mark on, in Fodlan or Almyra. You’re who they need. A voice of reason. I know that it has been difficult to transition to life in Fodlan. I myself had some difficulties in the monastery, and with the loss of my father, it has been even harder. But I also know that you are stronger than me. You are braver than me. And you have more light in you than I do-- even with whatever sort of religious nonsense I have been imbued with these days burning on in me. You radiate charisma, compassion, and charm. I know that is not all that you are. I know you are often lonely. I know you lie to hide your insecurities and vulnerabilities from others. I know you are often quite sad. This world has not been kind to you. But I also know you can build a new Fodlan. I want to make sure I can see it, and if I cannot, then I want you to know that I would stand with you if I could. You are brave, kind, clever, and strong, Claude, not to mention a far better archer than I could ever hope to be. No matter where you rule, I will be proud of you, and I will stand by you.

With sincere regards,

Byleth Eisner


	7. Chapter 7

In two weeks’ time, Ignatz set off again. He had a duty to complete. Two letters remained to be delivered-- he lamented that Leonie had happened to grab Raphael’s, a conversation he could’ve better prepared himself for and a far shorter trip, he thought, approaching the gates of the Gloucester estate on foot, feeling precisely two feet tall in the rainy evening.

Two guards stood to meet him, and escorted him to the reception hall, where he left his coat. He had escorted his parents a handful of times in the business to the Gloucester estate, but that was when the household was a series of strangers with whom his relationship was transactional only. It wasn’t when he was visiting a friend.

Lorenz walked down the entry stairs, in the violet coat and starched white of his house, looking as well-kept as Ignatz could have expected him to.

“What brings you here, Ignatz?” he asked, hand on the bannister in graceful descent. “Please tell me you didn’t miss my company after such a brief respite.”

“That isn’t it,” said Ignatz, almost apologetically. “Actually, I just came to bring something by, from Garreg Mach.” 

“Oh,” said Lorenz, voice hushed only a little. “Might I invite you to stay for tea? It is the very least that I can do.”

“Of course,” said Ignatz, fidgeting only slightly as Lorenz guided them into one of the sitting rooms. “I’m sorry if I’ve inconvenienced you, by the way.”

“It’s no matter,” said Lorenz. “It’s quieter than I remember here. Your presence is appreciated.” He reached for the teapot and set to preparing a lavender blend.

“Thank you. How have the last few weeks treated you?” Ignatz could feel the letter burning through his bag.

“Poorly. I’m afraid my father hasn’t taken the news of the Empire’s assault on Garreg Mach well. Our family is devout, and our border with the Empire is serious cause for concern. I fear we’ll be paralyzed by the situation. But that is enough of politics. I miss the monastery’s fresh air quite a bit, and the library is sorely missed as well.”

“I miss the library too,” agreed Ignatz, and Lorenz handed him the cup and saucer. “You’d be glad to know it survived the assault well.”

“It’s a shame more didn’t,” said Lorenz, a bitter tone in his voice. “Too many people have died. The records have returned for a good portion of Gloucester territory, and it is truly cataclysmic. Not to mention personal friends.”

“There’s been no word about Professor Eisner,” he sighed, sipping his tea.

“I see,” said Lorenz, an almost strained expression on his face. “Next week, the Alliance will be uniting for a meeting. I expect Claude is still struggling with this?”

“When I saw him two weeks ago, he was,” admitted Ignatz. “But I can tell you’re still upset, too. The professor was close to all of us.”

“That’s very true.” Lorenz stirred some honey into his tea and took a sip. “She was quite uncanny. I don’t expect we’ll ever see anyone like her again.”

“No kidding,” agreed Ignatz. “Speaking of her, that’s what I came to deliver.” He pulled the letter out and set it on the table. “Leonie and I found these when we were going through her things.”

“That’s rather gauche of the both of you, isn’t it?” Lorenz raised an eyebrow and left it on the table, but Ignatz saw his gaze linger, and his expression soften.

“I think they were supposed to be for our graduations,” Ignatz said quietly. “If you wouldn’t like to read it or even open it, you don’t need to.”

“You did go to the trouble of bringing it all this way, though,” said Lorenz. “It would be impertinent not to accept it.” He sighed. “Thank you, Ignatz.”

“It’s just the right thing to do,” he said, a slight smile forming on his face. “I suppose you would’ve done the same for me.”

“It’s part of my obligations and duties,” said Lorenz, setting down the teacup. “What I can do for the commoners in my charge, I will.” 

Ignatz shook his head and sighed. Old habits, he thought. “Thank you again for the tea. I should probably get going.” He smiled gratefully.

“Do you have anywhere to stay?” asked Lorenz, curiously glancing out the window the rain was pelting. “Surely you won’t attempt a journey home at this hour in such perilous conditions.”

“I’ll be alright.” Ignatz smiled uncertainly and stood. “I’ve been enough of a nuisance already.”

“No,” said Lorenz, “I must insist. You’re a friend. You can leave in the morning if you need to go, but if something were to happen, I would not forgive myself.”

“Are you sure?” Ignatz furrowed his brow.

“Certain,” said Lorenz. “Perhaps I should introduce you to my parents. After all, we did speak about your art, did we not?”

Ignatz left in the morning, the streets awash, but the sky clear. Lorenz watched him go out the window, and was reminded of how empty the estate felt. To be an only child, and go from having seven brothers and sisters in arms to nothing again, was hollow. He missed Ignatz the moment that he was gone-- and surely would have if any of his friends had brought it, even Claude. Ignatz had barely turned the corner before he opened the letter.


	8. Chapter 8

Dear Lord Gloucester,

Lorenz, it physically pains me to call you that. I have been utterly clear with you about my regards for nobility in the classroom and that I will never give special treatment to you, or any other noble, and I have reprimanded you for the way you speak to others plenty of times before. By all means, you have been a handful to try and teach. I worry if I even got through to you at all. But for every frustration, I find there have been two more laughs and smiles and times where I stopped and thought to myself that you were, for all of your exasperating tendencies, very genuinely kind.

It is difficult for me to advise people when I know it could cause them pain, but I must speak my peace with you. I know you are sensitive. You treated me, and others, with more gentleness and sympathy than often, anyone else in the monastery. On more than one occasion, you concerned yourself with my well-being as a priority over your own interests, and I have heard the same from multiple other students, and you read others with unparalleled skill. You are, by all means, a soft-hearted person, and I find myself thinking often of how easily you see the good in others. But I worry. I have always worried for you, most of all. 

I know you will not like the things which I am about to say, and I would recommend this letter remain private between us. I feel that your father’s influence upon your life has been, in many ways, negative. From the way you speak of him, I can tell that he deeply values your status and his own, and that he will do anything to preserve that status and has imprinted those behaviors onto you. I have never met the man, but I would willingly challenge him to a duel for the way he has treated you and others. I recommend, as well, that you consider more thoughtfully the underhanded way he speaks of marriage, commoners, and your “duties.” No relationship can so simply be reduced to power dynamics the way it seems he thinks it can be, and you know this in your heart. You use it as a justification for the favors you do others, but it is evident from your behavior, in my eyes, that you want to treat everyone with kindness, and feel confined by your status, whether or not you explicitly realize this. 

I beseech you, Lorenz, to break free of this. You will soon be graduating from Garreg Mach and returning home, should all end well after the seige of the monastery. You find greatest meaning in doing good things for other people, but you can escape the mindset of the caste system in Fodlan, and break the chain willingly. Open your eyes. Become more. I see so much potential in you to grow, but it is up to you to make it a reality.

Your teacher and friend,

Byleth Eisner


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy crap it's just unbelievable to me that i forgot to update it for so long. this has been sitting in my docs!

Leonie wrote Hilda as soon as she was home safely. Hilda had talked about her family having multiple estates and homes, and flitting between them throughout social seasons before the Academy. Leonie didn’t want to show up a month too late and a hundred miles away from anywhere, and within two weeks, a personal courier had brought Leonie a return-- and an invitation to a “probably boring” (in Hilda’s words) gala at the Goneril estate.

She didn’t tell her family where she was going. She was nineteen, she didn’t think she needed to. She stuffed the fanciest thing she owned into her horse’s saddlebag, and made the week-and-a-half long journey to Goneril. It didn’t feel half that long of a journey, but Leonie had always loved to travel. The foothills turned to the mountains of Fodlan’s Throat, or perhaps jawline, along the southern bend, she mused, and the night before she was to reunite with a classmate who still eluded her, she looked up at the glittering white stone of the estate from the window of her inn room. The Goneril estate was perched on the mountainside like a sentinel. It was almost hard to believe Hilda was from somewhere so imposing-- but then a glimpse of her, wiping blood from her lip while laughing, axe in hand, flashed through Leonie’s memories.

Leonie dressed up the next evening. Ignatz and Lysithea had helped her pick the doublet and skirt combination, in a vibrant amber-orange, for the ball at the end of the semester. She had felt cartoonish the first time she’d worn them, and she felt cartoonish now, her boyish short hair, masculine doublet, and long pleated skirt. Even handing over the invitation (Hilda’s letter tucked safely in her pocket), she felt silly, and terribly out of place on the marble, candlelit dance floor, while ten thousand rich kids danced around her, drinking wine more expensive than her family’s house.

Hilda stood at the center, with an orbit of young men around her like Jupiter and its moons, her massive dress giving her a doll-like, fairy tale princess appearance, drenched in pink, coifed, curled, and laced into a silhouette designed to make the already petite and curvy Hilda even more exaggerated. Leonie hung back, watching as Hilda giggled and sipped champagne, and then, they met eyes.

“Leonie!” she gushed, shoving aside three young lordlings exuberantly and grabbing Leonie’s hands. “I didn’t think you would come!”

“Here I am,” she said, for once in her life, a shrinking violet. “Could we talk outside?” She glanced to one of the balconies.

“Of course!” She whooshed over the floor, floating rather than walking, and dragged Leonie behind her.

“How do you walk in that dress?” asked Leonie, holding the door open as Hilda hoisted up her many layers of carnation-pink skirts.

“I guess it just comes naturally,” said Hilda nonchalantly, stretching out on one of the stone benches, leaning back over the bannister. “So why did you want to talk outside?”

“Uh,” said Leonie, reaching into her pocket and pulling out the letter, “Ignatz and I found these when we were cleaning up everything at Garreg Mach. They’re letters from Professor Eisner.”

Hilda grabbed the letter curiously in a gloved hand, turning it over. “You came all this way for this? Why didn’t you just send it to me, silly?”

“I felt like it was just better to give it to you in person,” said Leonie, relaxed now that she wasn’t in the stifling ballroom. “It’s the last thing we all have from her. It’s just the right thing to do, all things considered.”

“Well, that’s one way to look at it,” said Hilda, putting it in a pocket for later. “Are you having any fun at the gala?”

“No,” said Leonie, honestly. “It’s not my sort of thing. I’m not sure I even need to ask if you are or not, though.”

“No, I’m having a terrible time!” Hilda said with a broad, painted-lipped smile. “I swear, if another little Leicester lordling wannabe asks me if my dance card has a spot for him, I’ll kick him out on the spot.”

“You really seemed like you were enjoying yourself in there,” said Leonie.

“No! No, no, no. I’m just humoring it all because I know the circumstances. My parents will never outright say they want me married, but with the whole Empire thing,” she said, waving her hands, “I mean, with the war right on our doorstep, anyone would be lucky to have me. My parents’ alliance is a valuable asset. Not to mention that I myself am undeniably, a treasure.”

“So you’re just playing the courtship game with all these boys?” Leonie raised an eyebrow suspiciously.

“No,” said Hilda. “Geez, I’m not remotely serious about any of them. I’m just here to keep things in order. It’s just...it’s high society. You have to keep the rhythm going. Like dancing,” she explained. "If anyone were to miss a beat, social chaos would ensue."

“Sounds like a lot of rules,” said Leonie.

“Yep!” Hilda stretched her shoulders, and Leonie marveled that she didn’t pop a dress seam. “You wanna get some wine? Oh, my mom has this really wonderful vintage she saved for my coming-out, but I don’t know if I want to wait.”

“Oh, I can’t,” said Leonie.

“Come on! How often do you get fancy wine, anyways?” Hilda offered out her arm. “I might even dance with you! Come on!”

At the end of the night, Hilda was tipsy, happy, and half undone at two hours past midnight. Leonie was long gone, as were all of the other guests, and she stripped quickly and lazily down to her shift, throwing everything on the floor. In the morning, one of her maids brought her breakfast, cleaned up her mess, and drew her bath, and she was halfway through her tea when she remembered the letter in her skirt pocket, dashing downstairs to the washroom to snatch it from a watery grave.


	10. Chapter 10

Dear Lady Goneril,

Hilda, there is not a moment when I was around you that I had any difficulty smiling. Even when you complained that you hated class, even when you sweet talked the boys into cleaning your blood covered axes for you, even when you told me over tea that I probably wouldn’t be single if I started wearing nicer earrings. You make me smile. You’re easy to be around. You’re undeniably overflowing with energy, life, vitality, and unbridled delight, and you surprise me all the time.

That aside, Hilda Valentine Goneril, don’t you dare try to play stupid with me. I am your teacher. I know that even when you play silly and coy, and ask favors of others, you are clever. You’re sharp as they come, and perhaps you can string everyone but Claude and Marianne along, but don’t think it doesn’t break my heart to see you throw away your potential. I don’t just mean on the battlefield, though you have proven to me time and time again that you are a force to be reckoned with. I mean as a person.

You are capable of great consideration when you try. But that requires effort. And you hate to let people down-- you can’t be a disappointment, if you don’t try.

I know what that feels like. 

Every weekend morning, I wake up terrified that it will be the day that I lose one of you. It would surely be easier for me to keep us all here at the monastery, or turn all of you over into the capable hands of a different teacher. That way, if anything were to befall my beloved students, the onus would lie elsewhere. But if I did that, I wouldn’t have all of the precious memories I do with all of you. I never would’ve gotten to teach you how to properly fasten leg armor, or how to cook over an open fire, and you never would have shown me how to embroider or put my hair up “properly”. There are dozens of beautiful things and learning experiences waiting behind every choice you make, and to shut them away because you don’t want to make a mistake is enough to break my heart. I hurt for you, Hilda. I hurt for the way you smile and laugh and joke and tease, and the way that I know that beneath it, you’re afraid, and you’ve never gotten to experience the joy of overcoming that fear.

You will never disappoint me. You could wake up the day before your graduation and tell me you were quitting the academy to herd goats, and I wouldn’t be disappointed in you. The only person you hurt when you do this, is yourself. You have everything you want, Hilda. You’re a spoiled, pampered nobleman’s daughter who could wrap anyone around her finger. But that doesn’t make for a fulfilling life. Take a chance. Stretch yourself out, and show the world how much more you can be.

Dearly in your heart,

Byleth Eisner


End file.
